


Your Compass In The Dark

by Guardian_Rose



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Asexual Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Tumblr Prompt, prompted fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 09:08:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19765039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guardian_Rose/pseuds/Guardian_Rose
Summary: Posters on the wall catch his eye. Growls and screams from behind heavy metal doors. So crowded it’s near impossible to not be touching the demons he passes and that is awful, he hates it, but he would live with this many demons in such close quarters if it kept Crowley safe.He follows his north star. His guiding light.He finds Crowley in minutes.Hastur stands at the door, alerted by the others in this claustrophobic mess of a place where demons stab each other and harass each other and hurt each other to the core (it explains a lot of Crowley’s interior decoration tastes).***For this request: 'Could you please write something where after Michael, Uriel and Sandalphon corner Aziraphale on the street, he realises Crowley is right? He goes to Crowley’s flat but doesn’t call ahead. Crowley doesn’t get the idea to travel the phoneline. Azir arrives just as a hurt Crowley’s being dragged down to hell by Hastur. Cue Azir having to save Crowley before they can save the world together. Bonus points: Crowley tells Azir to leave him and save himself but he won’t, admitting he loves Crowley'





	Your Compass In The Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for the request: 'Could you please write something where after Michael, Uriel and Sandalphon corner Aziraphale on the street, he realises Crowley is right? He goes to Crowley’s flat but doesn’t call ahead. Crowley doesn’t get the idea to travel the phoneline. Azir arrives just as a hurt Crowley’s being dragged down to hell by Hastur. Cue Azir having to save Crowley before they can save the world together. Bonus points: Crowley tells Azir to leave him and save himself but he won’t, admitting he loves Crowley'
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Some moments are slow in the process of living them. Some pass in a blur. The same can be said for these moments when one looks back upon them. Crystal clear or hazy fog? Untethered emotions or pointed details?

When Aziraphale looks back he doesn’t recall the exact things Michael and Uriel said. He remembers fear. The sensation of a rough push back against a wall in a totally different manner than Crowley had done. The horror of them threatening Crowley with destruction. The one thing he’d been trying to save Crowley from for millennia. The thing that had kept them separate on that last level they so yearned for.

He does recall the  _ exact _ moment he first saw Crowley kicking and flailing as Hastur dragged him over a pile of clothes and holy water. The pin-point emotions flooding him from top to toe. The acute terror and despair on Crowley’s face as he’d locked eyes (achingly absent sunglasses) with Aziraphale in the doorway. Crowley had screamed at him. Hastur had laughed at them. Aziraphale had been too late in summoning a sword from Heaven’s far away armoury. 

And now here he was. Blazing glory. Halo on show, pointed arrows reigned in a circle around his head as he let his true being bleed through is mortal vessel in this literal hell hole. Wings brushing aside minor demons as he stalked through the halls. Radiating holy light that seared at each demon’s skin. Holy water in a string of vials hanging from the inner pocket of his coat on either side. Just in case some got smashed. Inside the coat rather than in hand because he’d be damned thrice over before he let  _ any _ of the water get within an inch of Crowley. 

It was surprisingly easy.

Posters on the wall catch his eye. Growls and screams from behind heavy metal doors. So crowded it’s near impossible to not be touching the demons he passes and that is awful, he hates it, but he would live with this many demons in such close quarters if it kept Crowley safe. 

He follows his north star. His guiding light. 

He finds Crowley in minutes.    
  


Hastur stands at the door, alerted by the others in this claustrophobic mess of a place where demons stab each other and harass each other and hurt each other to the core (it explains a lot of Crowley’s interior decoration tastes). Aziraphale doesn’t listen to what he says. Does not care.

“Is Crowley inside? What have you done to him?”

Hastur’s expression is all he needs to know. Aziraphale uncorks one of the bottles with his thumb and throws the contents down Hastur’s chest. For the first time, there are no longer demons pushing at his back and tearing at his wings. Hastur’s screams he will not remember later. He adds the rest of that line of bottles (three more) just in case. They are rather small loads after all. 

He will remember the whine Crowley lets out, curled in a corner of the room. Black wings burnt and torn. There’s far too much blood for Crowley’s corporation to be surviving but he is. It’s him. In his torn shirt and that  _ stupid _ tie / necklace / shoe lace. It’s him. Aziraphale drops the remaining string of bottles to the ground once he’s in the door, kicking it closed behind him. He nudges them into a corner of the room before folding his wings in a little and approaching Crowley tentatively.

“Crowley? It’s me, Aziraphale. I’m here to take you home. I’m going to touch you, okay? I need to see where the blood is coming from.” 

Crowley does not react as Aziraphale expects. He expects a lot of coaxing and soothing and reminding him that he is not a demonic trick or anything. Instead he topples backward ( _ very _ glad he’d let go of the holy water) with an armful of Crowley. Crowley’s arms around his shoulders, his face in his neck, his wings cocooning them. 

“Angel, angel, angel, you can’t stay here,” Crowley whispers against his skin over and over, “You’ve gotta go, love, I- you gotta go.”

“How did you know it was me?” Aziraphale asks, blindsided by Crowley’s probably unintentional confession that he actually already knew about but had never  _ heard _ before. 

Crowley’s lips whisper across the skin of Aziraphale’s neck and he can’t tell if it was a deliberate kiss or just a side effect of breathing. “I’d know you anywhere. You knew it was me just then, right?”

“Of course, I did!” 

“Exactly.” Crowley pulls back a little, the scrape of his wings against Aziraphale’s warmer than they should be and it’s easy enough upon seeing the rest of Crowley’s body relatively unharmed that the demons had just hit some blood feathers (far too likely seeing as Crowley had only molted a few weeks before the apocalypse to have fresh flight feathers). “Now go.”

Aziraphale clamps his hands around the demon’s forearms to stop him from pulling away as they both sit up. Crowley’s eyes are pure snake, no white pretence. “I’m not going without you. I came here to bring you home. We’ve got an antichrist to find and I know where he is.”

Crowley shakes his head, limp hair bouncing with him. “They’ve got me, Zira. That’s it. You’ve gotta go back and stay safe. They’re not just going to let me go now they have me. Especially Hastur.” 

“Hastur isn’t a problem anymore though. I took care of him.”

Crowley’s eyes widen in shock and it takes a lot of willpower not to shuffle under his gaze. “I thought you were the nice one?”

“I am!” Aziraphale says indignantly. “But he was less than nice to you so really, he had it coming, wouldn’t you say?”

Crowley nods, biting his bottom lip to stamp down a smile. “I would say so, angel.”

“So, you’ll come with me?”

The smile tugging at the corners of his lips falls again and he sighs, turning his wrists to wrap his own fingers around Aziraphale’s. “No.”

Aziraphale makes a frustrated noise, glaring. “Why not? What are you going to achieve? Staying down here?”

“Nothing,” Crowley says with a one shouldered shrug. “But Heaven can’t punish you if you tell them all about how you finally defeated your arch nemesis.”

“Oh stop being dramatic! You’re hardly an enemy, Crowley. You know you’re not by now.”

Crowley smiles sadly. “Do I?”

And that’s the end of the line for them. That’s where the record needle lifts off, ready to be restarted. Where the dance ends and the next picks up with new partners, a deviation in the steps, a faster beat. Where the sun sets and rises again. And again. And again. 

“Yes.” Aziraphale says, determined to break this inane cycle. “ _ Yes _ , you  _ do _ . I’ve been hugely overestimating you if you don’t, my dear. And seeing as I don’t believe that’s the case in this situation, shut up and let me escort you home.”

Crowley blinks at him. Opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens. Exhales as if he’d forgotten. Kisses Aziraphale for all of ten seconds. Pulls back and stands, hand held down to help Aziraphale to his feet. 

“Let’s go then. Save the world or something.”

“Brilliant. Then we’ll go to the Ritz, I think. Get one of their couple’s dinners.”

“I’d love that, angel.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Beta by [Kimmy <3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kimmy/pseuds/Kimmy) Thank you <3
> 
> Prompts welcome here and on my writing tumblr [WordToTheRose ](https://wordtotherose.tumblr.com/) or come say hi on my main [Guardian-Rose-Petal](https://guardian-rose-petal.tumblr.com/)


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